


With You Around

by pensversusswords



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing, Steve Tony Appreciation Celebration Day, SteveTonyFest, Tattoos, stac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd like to know you." </p><p>Tony works in a coffee shop where Steve spends a lot of his time, because it's the perfect place to draw. Then, he starts to talk to Tony, and he finds himself coming in for a different reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is my pinch hit SteveTonyFest gift for adelinelennon. I hope you like it!
> 
> Edit; I've changed the summary. The first one was awful, I suck at summaries.
> 
> [My tumblr](http://preserumsteve.co.vu), where I take prompts and all the fun stuff happens.

Steve had been going to that coffee shop for months before he actually had a real conversation with him.  

He was sitting in his favourite spot in the far corner of the coffee shop, that spot tucked into the corner of  SHIELD café, that gave him the perfect vantage point to overlook the rest of the patrons that came into the establishment. It was cozy in there, all wood furnishings and eccentric paintings composed of bright colours hanging on the walls, and it always smelled faintly spicy like cinnamon in there, just beyond the layer of the rich coffee scent.

He liked that spot because it gave him the perfect view to sketch anything that caught his eye, whether it be a musician on the street outside the window singing through his teeth as he played music no one heard except for children with curious mouths and wide eyes, or the tired slope of a stranger's frown as they stared sullenly into a cup of coffee on their table that wouldn't fix their problems, as much as they'd wish it did. He'd filled book after book with aimless sketches from that shop since he'd started coming there, and one would think he'd tire of it after a while, but he never seemed to. Something about that place with its low lighting and soft spoken conversations that flitted amongst the customers, never failed to soothe and intrigue him.

And of course, if he was being honest, there was something else that was really the biggest reason he kept coming back.

His name was Tony, as per his nametag, and he was, quite frankly, beautiful. He was cute barista he'd caught himself staring at more than once, the one with the wild hand motions and the smile that oozed charisma and charm, even on the days where it didn't quite seem to meet his eyes. He always jibed with Steve whenever he came in, knew his order off by heart, and always seemed to know how to send Steve on his way with a faint blush staining his cheeks.

So, he came mostly for him, but he hadn't actually spoken to him for real, until that night.

It was nine o'clock on a Friday night, one where the snow fell silent and heavy across the streets like a heavy blanket. The snow curled the masses of concrete and brick into a soft slumber, so that even the cars that ventured along the streets hummed silently, as if they knew the city was sleeping and they ought to be mindful of it. The air was crisp and cold as Steve trundled into the café, armed with his sketchbook and arsenal of pencils, and when he stumbled inside in a gust of cold air, he made a beeline for his spot, more than a little bit grateful to wrap his hands around the warmth of his favourite tea.

He'd just delved into a sketch by memory of an old man he'd seen slouched over on a park bench earlier that day, his red jacket a striking contrast against the snow that had gathered around him, when he was snapped out of the drawing haze by a loud clattering noise, and a string of rather colourful curses.

It wasn't particularly  crowded that night, so the outburst went largely unnoticed. An older woman on the other side of the shop glanced up briefly before turning back to her book, and a table of what looked to be a group of university students around his age looked over in surprise with faint laughter on their lips before returning to their conversation, but other than that, nothing.

Steve peered curiously over in the direction where the racket had come from, mildly concerned. He couldn't really see anything behind the counter, but it had definitely sounded like something had been broken. Steve felt torn between standing up to investigate, and sitting still, minding his own business.

There was another crash, another loud curse, and then Steve was on his feet, shuffling his way through the sea of tables and chairs towards the commotion.

He reached the counter and planted two hands against the surface, leaning up on his toes and craning his neck to see over to the other side, where there was the sound of what seemed to be broken pieces of glass being swept together against the tile flooring, and a rather disgruntled person muttering under their breath.

"Uh, is everything okay back there?" he asked.

The clattering noise stopped, as did the voice, and there was a brief moment of silence before a head popped up from behind the counter, and Steve was suddenly fixed with a pair of familiar brown eyes that peered at him from underneath a mop of dark hair. It didn't take a genius to see the plastic nature of the smile on his lips, and the way his eyes were hooded with tired annoyance.

"Oh, it's Hot 'Green Tea With Honey' Guy. Hello. Everything is fantastic," Tony said, his voice falsely cheerful. "Sorry about the noise, I'll be with you in a second."

Then the face disappeared, and the sounds of cleaning recommenced.

Frowning ever so slightly, his ears burning the slightest bit at the nickname he'd just had bestowed upon him, Steve waited for a moment before calling out to him again. "It's Steve, actually. I uh, came over to see if you were okay, actually."

"Tony. Well, thank you then. Much appreciated, I'm just dandy," he called back, each word dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"Would you like some help?" Steve offered.

"Not necessary!"

"I really don't mind," Steve pressed on, and Tony's  head poked back up again.

"I can handle a bit of broken glass, blondie, but thanks for the offer," he told him, gave him that brilliant smile again. Then he disappeared again, and Steve thought in amusement that every time he did that, he vaguely resembled one of those arcade games with the gophers and the plastic hammers.

He was about to say so, in an attempt to make him laugh, but then a muttered "oh shit, _ow_ " and the sound of more dishes breaking had him frowning again.

"Seriously, it sounds like you could use some help," Steve insisted, and was met with a rather displeased grunt.

"It's all good, I'm just you know, bleeding fucking everywhere, but it's fine because there are still a few more mugs back here that I can break if I need to keep going."

Steve didn't answer, because at this point he was walking along the counter to the swinging door that separated the area for the employees and the customers, and slipping in behind the counter. He figured that if he was going to get yelled at, he might as well get yelled at trying his best to be some measure of help.

He rounded the corner to see Tony amid a mess of shattered glass, gripping his hand tightly; probably covering up a cut from trying to pick up glass with bare hands. He was looking up at Steve sheepishly as he came close.

"Okay," he admitted slowly as Steve lowered into a crouch in front of him. "Some help might be nice."

***

They ended up in the bathroom with Tony sitting on the counter next to the sink, his eyes tired and watchful as Steve stood in front of him, wetting a wad of paper towels.

"You don't have to do that, you know," he protested when Steve reached out and wrapped his hand around his wrist, turning it gently so that his palm was facing up. The cut that ran jagged across his palm was red and angry, and judging by the way that Tony flinched in pain at the movement, it hurt quite a bit.

"I won't if you don't want me to," Steve told him, and pressed the paper towel to the shallow wound, wiping away the redness as gently as possible. Tony hissed at that and his face contorted in discomfort, but he didn't pull away or tell Steve to stop, so he just kept at it.

"I guess it's easier than doing it myself," he said reluctantly, and Steve had to grin at that because it almost sounded like Tony was acting as though he was doing _him_ a favor by letting him clean his cut. Perhaps it was his own way of expressing gratitude.

"Ow, watch it," Tony snapped suddenly, and Steve stopped moving immediately, his head jerking up to look Tony in the face, his face twisted into a sympathetic grimace.

"Sorry," he said sincerely, his fingers loosening even more on the limp hand that he held in his own. "I'll be more careful."

Tony shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Nah, it's fine. Just surprised me."

"You sure?" Steve asked, his eyes still watchful and careful as he assessed the boy sitting there in front of him.  

"Yeah," he assured him, and wiggled his arm a little bit. "You can keep going, it's fine."

Reluctantly, Steve turned back to his task, very carefully finishing what he'd started.

Tony ended up with a bandaged hand that looked like an amateur had simply tossed gauze on his hand and tied it together (it had been a long time since Steve had taken a first aid class, alright), but he just laughed and told Steve to never become a paramedic.

***

"What are you drawing?"

Steve looked up at the voice, and was met with the sight of Tony standing next to his table, a steaming mug in one hand, looking down at him curiously. A few days had since the glass incident, and Steve was back again. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing that he hadn't even noticed the time slipping by.

He blinked and glanced around the room, taking in the silence, and the lighting that was just the slightest bit dimmer than usual, and his eyes snapped to Tony's with a start.

"I'm sorry, are you closing? I didn't even notice the time." He started to gather his stuff together, but Tony was flopping down next to him and waving it off.

"Nah, it's not a big deal. I'm closing anyways, and my friend Rhodey owns the place anyways. No rush."

Steve looked at him suspiciously, and Tony set the mug down on the table, raising both hands in defence. "Hey, I swear. All good."

"I don't want to be a bother," Steve told him slowly. The place was actually empty at this point, they were the only ones in there. Where there was usually the sound of low conversations and clattering around in the kitchens, there was just the low hum of music filtering down from the speakers, something soft and slow.

"You're not a bother," Tony said, and his eyes flicked up in a good natured eye roll. "I have nowhere I need to be. I think you're just trying to change the subject."

"I'm not," Steve disagreed.

"Mmm," Tony hummed disbelievingly. "If you say so. Here."

He pushed the mug he'd been holding across the table, stretching out with the hand that wasn't still messily bandaged to nudge it in front of Steve. "The tea you usually order. A thank you, I guess, for picking the glass out of my hand and making sure I didn't bleed out."

"There was no glass in your hand," Steve corrected him with a small smile. "It was hardly that bad."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said dismissively. "Either way, that's for you. Thank you tea. For being nice."

"Okay," Steve said, and gratefully wrapped his hands around the warmth of the mug. "Thank you."

"No problem. So. The sketchbook?" Tony swayed forward so that he could lean against the table on his elbows, fixing Steve with an inquisitive expression. "I've seen you drawing in there like your life depended on it ever since you started coming in here, and I'm just dying to know what's inside."

"It's nothing interesting, really,"  Steve told him, flushing ever so slightly. "It's just doodles."

Tony eyed him curiously. "You mean to tell me that there's absolutely nothing in that entire sketchbook that you can show me? I'm starting to think that you're drawing porn over here."

Steve smiled faintly, and shook his head. "Not porn," he told Tony firmly. "I just don't usually show people what I'm drawing."

Tony shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, flashing Steve a grin. "Keep your porn to yourself then, I get it."

Steve narrowed his eyes at Tony, and took a sip of his tea before answering. "Is that supposed to make me want to show you, just to prove you wrong?" he asked, deadpan.

Tony smirked, and one eyebrow arched up. "Ah, you're on to me, Steven. Catching on fast, I see."

"You're not exactly hard to figure out," Steve muttered into his steaming tea.

Tony looked faintly surprised at that statement. He titled his head slightly to one side and looked at Steve oddly. "No?" he asked, his voice coloured with curiosity.

 "Nope," Steve told him cheerfully. "I'm paying attention."

Tony looked like he was about to say something, but Steve thought of something then, and lit up a little bit. He held up one finger to Tony, and then started flipping through his sketch book.

"I do have something I can show you, actually," he told Tony, who leaned forward in what almost seemed to be excitement. Why he was excited to see something from Steve's silly sketch book was beyond him, but he was grateful that Tony wasn't trying to peek over his shoulder as he flipped through the book, like he'd half expected him to.

"Yeah?" Tony said, and that was real interest there, hovering under the surface as he focused his attention on Steve.

"Yeah," Steve answered, just as he found it. He made a little triumphant noise and bent the spine of the book so that it was the only page visible, and handed it to Tony.

He took it gingerly, and for all of his nagging Steve thought that he looked a little bit cautious. He set it down on the table and bent over it, his eyes scanning the page.

"It's a comic book idea I've been working on," Steve said, a little nervously, because he never showed anyone his work - in fact he wasn't quite sure why he was showing Tony at all. He rubbed at the back of his neck and attempted to be as nonchalant as possible. "It's about this team of superheroes, unlikely allies who come together to protect the earth from danger."

Tony was silent, still looking carefully at the page. His silence was making Steve more nervous, and he found himself still talking. "It's just an idea I've been playing around with for a while, it probably seems dumb-"

"No," Tony cut him off, a little bit sharply, but his face was soft and he was looking at Steve kindly. "Not stupid. You're a really good artist, Steve."

"Thanks," Steve said softly, and Tony smiled.

"What are their names?" he asked, and he brushed one finger over the page, over the sketchy lines that composed the greenish coloured monster, face contorted in a fit of rage.

"Well," Steve said, and scooted closer so that he could point to the figures on the page. "That one's Hawkeye, the master marksman. He's deaf and overall a complete little shit. That one's the Black Widow; Russian spy, completely lethal, but she'd surprise you with her sense of humor. That's Thor, the God of thunder. Then that's the Hulk, a creature made of rage. Two men in one, neither having control over the other. They don’t really get along at first, all of their differences get in the way."

"They sound like a mess," Tony commented.

Steve chuckled in agreement. "Very much so, but they work it out."

"Of course," Tony murmured. "A team of superheroes who can't get along, that's a recipe for disaster."

"Definitely," Steve agreed, "but they come together eventually. Mutual desire to avenge wrongdoings done to the earth tends to do that."

"You make it sound like you have experience in saving the world," Tony said, glancing up at Steve as his voice took on a  teasing tone. "I bet you're secretly a superhero."

"I'm not a superhero," Steve informed him, but Tony was grinning at him and it came out sounding a little funny.

"Exactly what a superhero would say."

"Or someone who just isn't a superhero."

"I'm not buying it Steve, I knew you were too built to be just an art student." Tony reached over to poke at Steve's forearm, and made a face of exaggerated shock.

Steve shook his head and gave him a half smile; this guy really knew how to get him all flustered. "I'm just a normal guy."

Tony snorted and gave him a strange look. "I find that hard to believe."

Before Steve could ask him what he meant, Tony was talking again, not letting him get in a word edgewise. "Which one are you."

Steve blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Tony said slowly, "which one are you the most like?"

Steve thought for a moment, then raised his shoulders in a shrug. "None of them, I don’t think."

"You should think," he said, and then he was handing the book back to Steve and standing up. "I have to clean up, I'll let you know when I'm heading out and locking the doors."

Steve opened his mouth to speak and started to stand, but Tony held up a hand to stop him. "You are not helping me, just sit your pretty ass down and drink your tea."

Chagrined, Steve sat back down obediently. Once satisfied that he wasn't going to get up and insist to help him - Steve was starting to think that Tony was just as stubborn as him, and it was his job after all - he shot Steve a dazzling grin, and then he was sauntering back to the kitchen.

Just like that he was gone, a whirlwind of energy and charisma passing through, leaving Steve behind with flushed cheeks and a mug of lukewarm tea.

***

"I drew us," Steve blurted out the next time he saw Tony, and immediately felt like kicking himself for being so awkward about it. He thrust the page over at Tony without an ounce of finesse, who just looked at him with eyebrows raised close to his hairline, and his mouth twisted in an amused grin.

"You've really got to stop that blushing thing you do, Steve. On a guy like you it makes you look like the sweetest teenager trapped in the body of an Adonis. It's absolutely delicious and makes me have impure thoughts," Tony teased as he took the page from him, adding a wink as a final flourish, and Steve felt a jolt run through him right down to his bones. If he thought the jesting was supposed to make Steve look less flustered, he was sorely wrong.

"You drew us?" Tony was asking now, staring down at the sheet of sketchbook paper with his expression unreadable. 

"Uh, yeah, well. You told me to think about which I would be, and I didn't think I was any of them so I came up with that. I drew you too, as you know, a thank you for the tea."

Tony gave him a look, and chuckled. "You can't give me a thank you gift for a thank you gift, Steve. That's just asking for a never ending stream of gifts that goes on for eternity."

Steve just shrugged sheepishly. Tony grinned and grabbed a chair, pulling it up so that he was sitting less than an arm's length away from Steve, so close he could smell the faint scent of coffee and a musky cologne. Steve had to fight the urge to bury his nose in Tony's neck and inhale.

"Tell me about us?" Tony asked, and Steve snapped back to reality.

"Um," he said stupidly, forcing himself to focus on the drawing and not their sudden proximity. "Well, I'm the one with the shield. I'd be a soldier, I think. My dad was, and I always wanted to be too. Maybe I'd have super strength."

"You already do," Tony smirked, eying his muscles, and Steve nudged him, sighing in exasperation.

"Hush," Steve told him, and Tony mimed zipping his lips shut. "Thank you. So that's me. You're the guy in the suit of armour."

"No super powers for me?"

Steve shook his head. "Your mind is your super power. You're an engineer, right? You'd build that suit of armour and you would use your mind, your intelligence, to protect people."

"Still studying," Tony said faintly, and Steve didn't really understand the smile he gave him then; soft and surprised, his eyes intent as they watched Steve. "Technically I'm a student, not an engineer."

"But you will be," Steve argued, and that expression on Tony's face deepened. "Right?"

"Yeah," Tony murmured, his smile still a little strange, but Steve didn't think it looked unhappy, exactly, so he decided not to ask. "That's the plan, I don't plan on making coffee for the rest of my life."

"I'm sure you make excellent coffee," Steve assured him, and he was rewarded with a grin that was a little more familiar; lighter, less tight.

"Oh I do, not that you would know." Tony looked down pointedly at Steve's usual mug of tea, and Steve stared back unapologetically. Coffee just wasn't his thing, despite Tony's insistence that he tried something from the spectrum of drinks offered at the café. "This is just to pay for school," he continued, "since I won't let my asshole father pay for it."

"Why not?" Steve asked, vaguely surprised. That was the first he'd heard Tony mention his family.

Tony didn't answer, just dropped his head to look at the drawing again, and Steve didn't push the issue either. He got the impression he shouldn't push.

"You like it?" he asked instead.

"I love it," Tony beamed, and Steve felt something warm blooming in his chest.

"Good," he said, disproportionately content with the positive response. "You can keep it if you want."

"You sure? It's okay if you want it back." Tony tried to hand it back to him, but Steve backed away, raising his hands in protest.

"Nope, it's yours," he insisted. "Keep it."

Tony assessed him for a few moments, his eyes unnervingly focused on Steve's face like he always did, as if making sure that Steve was serious. As though taking a simple sketch from him might actually be some kind of imposition.

But Steve didn't take the drawing back, and eventually Tony's face grew soft and grateful, and Steve felt something foreign flicker in his stomach at the sight, urgent and gentle all at the same time.

***

"You come in here a lot," Tony commented one day. He's sitting across from him, sipping at a mug of something frothy and topped with entirely too much whipped cream. There's a speck of it on the tip of his nose, and Steve wants to reach out and swipe it away.

"I do," Steve agreed.

"Why?" Tony asked. Steve knows him well enough that he's not being mean, he's not implying that he doesn't want him there, he just really wants to know. Chances are it confused him for some reason, and he'd been thinking about asking him for a while now.

"Because I like it here," Steve told him honestly. _And because you’re here._

"You don't have to come in and keep me company you know," he said plainly.

"I know," Steve responded. "I want to. I like it here."

"No one else you'd rather spend time with, Rogers?" He posed it as a teasing question, light hearted and casual,  but Steve could hear the faint concern in his voice.

Steve shrugged and gave him a wan smile. He reached out to briefly brush his fingers across the back of Tony's hand; he does this without thinking, and wants to kick himself when he realizes, but then he sees Tony relax at the contact, so he doesn't worry about it too much.

"I like spending time with you," he said, his voice genuine and firm. "It's nice to have a friend."

He didn't have to voice the implied _'because I don’t have many others,'_ but he hoped Tony heard it.

Tony's mouth twitched up involuntarily at the corners, as if he was happy about that but didn't want to show it, and he hastily grabbed his mug, bringing it to his lips.

"You're alright, Rogers," he murmured into the brim of his mug, and Steve just laughed.

***

It became a semi regular thing. Steve came into the coffee shop late in the evening on the nights that he knew Tony is closing, smiles at Tony when they make eye contact, and they exchange a few words over the counter while Steve gets his tea. Then he goes to his spot, and waits for Tony to finish his shift, and then they just sit and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

Steve wasn't quite sure when Tony made the shift from "The Gorgeous Man Who Serves Me Tea and Flirts Shamelessly," to "I Want to Make Him Smile and Kiss His Forehead," but once it happened, Steve knew there was no turning back. He started taking notice of little things about Tony; from the way the layer of sarcasm over his words hid something genuine, to the way his eyelashes fluttered against his skin when he blinked (Steve had a theory that once you started to actively notice someone's eyebrows, it was safe to say you were into them).

That was around the time when he started drawing Tony. It started rather innocently enough; just a casual sketch of him working the espresso machine, because Steve had suddenly wanted to capture the planes of his face as he contorted in frustration over the machine (as an engineering student, Tony got upset with poorly made electronics often, and Steve was positive that later that night, he took that machine apart and put it back together, because it never malfunctioned again). He started by carefully drawing the curve of his cheekbone, the flex of his hand, the swoop of his dark hair against his neck.

He started with that one drawing, and it turned into another. And another. He drew his face over and over until he knew every angle by heart, until he memorized his face with his hands, until he knew it by the stroke of his pencil.

He'd gotten a taste of what it felt like to draw Tony when he did the Iron Man sketch, and once he succumbed to the desire to do it more, he was hopeless. He was like an addict, never having quite enough.

Whenever Tony asked to see what he was working on, he would flip to another less incriminating page, and would snatch it back before Tony could flip to a new page and see his own face staring back at him.

So, once spending time with Tony became a regular thing, the drawing did too. Steve tried not to think about it too much.

***

Once they became friends, Steve was surprised at how naturally their friendship took on a warm, comforting glow of companionship. They didn't know each other long before Steve could hardly remember a time when he didn't know Tony; they just fit together so perfectly. The closeness came quickly, yes, but it Steve loved it.  

There was a couch in the back of the shop, this old thing that was spilling foam innards in several places and had a mysterious stain that both Steve and Tony avoided when they sat on it - Tony insisted it was just coffee, but neither of them wanted to take any chances. It was moved back there out of the public eye, because really, it was an eyesore, along with a finicky fireplace that only worked about sixty percent of the time. The other forty percent of the time it just made a sputtering noise and emitted this strange smoky scent, before dying with a magnanimous grunt. Tony insisted that he could fix it if it wasn't a billion years old and didn't have parts that were last made in the dark ages, so they'd just take their chances with it. The times that it didn't work, they just opened the windows to get rid of the smell, and huddled together underneath a shroud of blankets Tony kept in the back to keep warm. On the nights that they were lucky, and it did work, they'd curl up in front of it with their backs to that old couch, and they'd just talk.

Tony would normally end up resting his head against his shoulder and lean heavily against him, especially on the nights where he'd be dead on his feet, bags under his eyes and tired lines etched into his face. Sometimes Steve would just talk to him in a quiet voice, letting his words become white noise, because he knew that for some reason that lulled Tony to sleep. Those nights, when he'd go from his workshop, to school, then to work, Steve knew he needed the sleep and he was more than happy to be Tony's pillow for a night.

Most nights though, they just talked. Steve liked that too. He was becoming more and more aware of how attuned he was to Tony's voice, how easily simply talking to him became the highlight of his day.

"Who's Bucky?" he asked one night, his voice clouded with sleepiness. They'd gotten the fireplace working that night, and Tony was leaning on Steve so much that if he moved a fraction, he'd practically be sitting in his lap. The sleeves of Steve's sweater were pushed up, and Tony was tracing his fingers lightly over the ink on his wrist.

Steve felt himself shiver, on top of that semi nauseous feeling he always got when he thought of Bucky. The sick feeling was normal. Hearing it come from Tony's lips though, that's what sent tremor up his spine. He couldn't remember the last time he heard it out loud.

"My best friend," he told him, trying to keep his voice casual. "Like a brother."

"Where is he?" Tony murmured, still tracing the letters with gentle fingers.

Steve didn't have to answer. He knew he didn't, but Tony's voice was soft and he was warm against him, and his fingers felt good against his skin, so he found himself speaking when he wouldn't have expected himself to.

"Died in a car crash." His voice sounded almost normal. That was good.

Tony's fingers were slowing now, just the faintest brush of flesh on flesh. "You miss him," he said simply.

Steve nodded, but Tony wasn't looking so he didn't see, so he said, "yeah, I get lonely without him sometimes."

Tony squirmed a bit, scooting just a bit closer, and stopped moving his fingers, opting instead to curl his hand lightly around Steve's wrist. His hand was rough, calloused a bit, but Steve liked the faint catch and scratch of his skin against his own.

"'m sorry," Tony whispered softly.

"Thanks, Tony," Steve answered quietly, and his arm tightened where it was slung across his back. He could practically feel Tony fading into sleep, his breath becoming more even as drifted.

When he thought he was asleep, Steve turned his head and spoke into his hair, loving the softness of it pressed against his cheek. "I'm less lonely now with you around."

There was no answer for a few moments, as Steve expected, but then the hand on his wrist tightened ever so slightly, and Tony shifted closer. "I am too," he said, so quiet that Steve almost missed it, and then he was gone to the world, leaving Steve to his thoughts.

***

"You've never danced? Ever?"

"No," Steve answered, "never had the chance."

Tony was looking at him in the dark, his eyes bright in the faint lighting, his dark hair a stark contrast to the paleness of the hand that Steve had somehow managed to end up running through his hair. It must've been two am, and Steve needed to be in his art theory class in the morning, but Tony looked like happiness in the dim café lighting, and he was pretty sure that as an artist, he had to stay.

Purely as an artist, of course.

"How have you managed to go your entire life without dancing?" Tony demanded, incredulous.

Steve shrugged. "Never found anyone I wanted to dance with."

Tony was staring, brows drawn together as if he were thinking about something carefully, as if Steve had completely confused him and he was trying to pick him apart, piece by piece.

Steve always felt a little bare when Tony looked at him like that, all intense eye contact and pursed lips in concentration. Bare, but not in a bad way. He didn't mind Tony taking him apart.

"Come on," Tony said suddenly, and then he was standing up, offering a hand to Steve.

"What?"

"Come on," he repeated, gesturing wildly with his hand, summoning Steve to his feet. "We're going to dance."

"Tony," Steve sighed, "I don't know how."

"I'll show you," Tony promised, gesturing impatiently again. "Come on, everyone can do the junior high slow dance."

"I'll step on your feet."

"I'm tough, I can handle bruised toes."

Steve frowned, not happy at all with that. "There's no music."

"Oh," Tony said in realization, his face going blank. Then he tilted his head up glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at Steve. "Be right back."

Then he was scampering away, disappearing into the back room. There was the sound of things being shuffled around, Tony muttering under his breath, and then a triumphant _yes,_ followed by soft music filtering into the room from the speakers.

_You saw my pain, washed out in the rain._

Tony was back again, his mouth wide with a smile that crinkled the edges around his eyes, his hand reaching out for Steve, bidding him to take it.

"Come on," he murmured for the third time, and Steve found himself placing his hand in Tony's. He was finding that he was weak when it came to Tony looking at him like that.

Tony led him towards the middle of the floor, where they stood chest to chest amidst the throngs of tables and chairs. He'd brought him to the most open spot in the room, but it was still crowded and Steve thought that if they did any complicated moves, they'd end up tripping over table legs.

_But I will hold as long as you like._

He seemed satisfied though, and he took Steve's other hand. His fingers wrapped around Steve's, his thumb pressed against the center of his palm. He tugged on his hand gently, bringing it to the curve of his own hip. He let go once Steve's hand was resting lightly against his waist; Steve could feel the warmth of him through the thinness of his shirt, and his fingers flexed involuntarily, and for a moment he ached to know what Tony's flesh felt like underneath the fabric.

Tony laid his free hand against the ridge of Steve's shoulder, and the hand he had used to pull Steve across the room, moved so that their fingers twined together.

Steve really, really loved his hands.

He felt himself take in a sharp breath of air when Tony stepped closer, so close that they were almost pressed together.

"Just follow my lead," Tony whispered, and then he started to move, his body turning Steve along with him. He moved simply, keeping his eyes firmly on Steve's.

Steve was a little worried he might forget how to breathe.

He did step on Tony's feet a few times, but Tony just laughed and nudged him, wordlessly telling him to continue, so Steve did. It was easy, Steve thought. The dancing wasn't really dancing, they were just moving in circles, but that's not what he meant. The dancing was easy, but being close to Tony was easy too. Comfortable.

His knees went a little weak when, after they'd managed to go more than a few beats without Steve stumbling over his feet, Tony dropped his head onto his shoulder, stepping even closer to Steve's space. He could've sworn that he could feel the pattering of his heartbeat through their chests, but he could also hear it thundering in his ears, so maybe it was just his own.

Later, he'd blame the hour. His mother always told him when he was younger that he'd always better pay attention to things that happen past one am, and right now he was paying attention to the fact that he was slow dancing in the dark with Tony, who was soft and pliant in his arms, humming softly along with the voice crooning from the speakers.

He'd blame the soft light against Tony's cheek, the warmth of him against his chest, the way his hand felt rough and gentle in his own all at the same time. He'd blame all of those things, and his poor, yearning heart, for the impulsiveness of what he said next.

"Let me take you on a date," Steve murmured.  He phrased it as a statement, as cautious demand, but he knew the hesitant lilt to his voice made it obvious that it was actually a hopeful question.

Tony stiffened a little bit, and he backed away just enough so that he could look Steve in the face. Steve saw uncertainty, mingled with surprised on his face, and he suddenly wanted to swallow his own tongue.

"You sure you wanna do that, Rogers?" Tony whispered, and Steve could see something close to nervousness in the way his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the way that his eyes watched him carefully like he wasn't sure what to expect.

Steve curved a tentative hand around the back of Tony's neck, and was relieved to see some of that tension in his face fade away at the touch. He leaned into his hand, and Steve's fingers ached with desire.

_Just promise we'll be alright._

"Yeah," Steve agreed, his voice low and painfully honest, "I think I'd like to know you."

Tony let out soft laughed and shook his head. He dropped his forehead so that it leaned against Steve's, and his fingers stroked lightly against his shoulders.

"Okay," he said after a long moment, and Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Okay?" he asked, a little breathless, and Tony nodded.

Steve knew there was no way to keep the happiness off his face, he was bursting with it, so he didn't bother. He was grinning like a fool, he could feel it, but Tony kind of was too so it was alright.

"Great," Steve breathed.

Instead of answering, Tony grinned, all teeth and sparkling eyes, and leaned in. Steve's eyes were closed before their lips even touched, his body aching for that kiss the moment he realized that it was going to happen.

The noise in his throat was happily surprised, and Tony laughed softly against his mouth. The sound was perfect, trembling as it became trapped between their lips. Steve was smiling as he kissed Tony, holding him as close as he possibly could.

Tony didn't have to say it out loud for him to know that he wanted it just as much as he did.

He kissed Tony in the dark with the sun behind his eyes, and he knew when he opened them, Tony's face would be there, and he was certain that would be the most beautiful sight in the world.

_And we'll live a long life._

**Author's Note:**

> The song they dance to is "The Ghosts That We Knew," by Mumford and Sons.


End file.
